A Yuletide Highlander

by Cameron, Collette

  And here it came. The “but” she’d been anticipating.

  “I’m sure ye noticed the other desk in the office,” he said.

  Sarah nodded, absently rubbing her hands up and down her arms. She had but had been too distraught to puzzle over it. “Yes, I thought it a bit odd that no one else worked in the office of an establishment this large.”

  “I do have a clerk, but he’s been ill the past three days. I dinna want Baker to ken ye’re here, so I’ll have to contrive an excuse to keep him away.” Gregor squatted before the fire and added more coal.

  Convinced he did so on her account, another spark of gratitude fluttered in Sarah’s chest.

  Hearth broom in hand, he glanced over his shoulder. “As I mentioned, I have a woman who cleans twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays.”

  He swept a smattering of coal dust into a small dust bin and dumped it into the fire. Once he’d replaced the tools, he began pacing the room, one hand on his nape, and the other on his lean hip.

  “I think I must decline your kind offer.” Though what she would do instead, she couldn’t fathom. It made her head hurt to contemplate. Made the knot in her stomach tangle impossibly tighter. Sarah pressed her fingers between her eyes. “At the very least, your clerk will be curious, and your housekeeper mustn’t see us here. It would be no small task to keep Chris quiet in any event.”

  Gregor might have confidence in them, but Santano wasn’t above trickery, bribery, or other devilment to gain information. His man, Yeates, hadn’t believed the Highlander.

  She was sure of it.

  “Nae so fast, lass. Mrs. Smith winna come for a couple of days, and I’m hopeful I shall either have ye settled with yer grandmother or one of my friends by then.”

  Neither idea appealed overly much, truth to tell. They were strangers, after all.

  “As for Baker, he’s a trustworthy sort. He’d nae betray ye. Still, I dinna want him here.” He snapped his fingers, and a grin lit his eyes. “I have it. I’ll send him to Scotland with the letter to my cousin. I’ll also have him deliver my other missives. It winna be the first time I’ve done so, and he’ll have nae reason to believe anythin’ out of the ordinary is goin’ on.”

  “Gregor, you ought to be aware that you’re putting your life in danger by continuing to help us.” She slid a swift look to Chris, assuring herself he slept on. He’d never been able to grasp the peril they faced. “Santano killed my father, and he may have my mother, as well. I don’t doubt that he wouldn’t hesitate to murder you, too.”

  He slipped a wicked-looking knife from his boot, holding it up for her to see. “Och, never fear, lass. I can defend myself and ye if need be. I never go anywhere without this.” He pointed to the massive blade she’d spied earlier. “And trust me when I tell ye, I’ve some skill wieldin’ a sword.”

  He didn’t boast, merely stated a fact.

  “I have a feeling, Gregor McTavish, you’re skilled in a great many things.” Of its own volition, her gaze strayed to his mouth. Lord help her and the naughty path her thoughts dared to trundle down.

  At that moment, Cat stretched and opened his eyes, giving her such an astute look followed by a feline smile, and she swore the beast knew precisely what she was thinking. She hadn’t yet admitted to herself, but something far more than gratitude to the Highlander held her in thrall.

  Awareness of Sarah as a desirable woman assailed Gregor as she stared at his lips. When her small tongue darted out and moistened the corner of her mouth, he almost groaned aloud. He’d been without a woman since leaving Scotland.

  The cold English misses held little appeal for him. Until this frail tropical flower had burst headlong into his life.

  His mouth dried, his nostrils flared, and wild Highland ponies galloped through his middle. Not since Lily—nae, not even then—had a woman piqued his interest as acutely. Dressed in the first stare of fashion, her shimmering flaxen hair twisted into an elaborate coiffure, a little flesh softening the sharp angles of her bones, and Sarah Paine would turn many a man’s eye.

  Who was he fooling? She’d snared his attention dressed like a beggar and scared senseless. Keen of wit, unselfish, valiant as any warrior, and lovely of face and figure, a man wouldn’t soon forget her.

  His gut tightened sickeningly.

  Another reason to save her from Santano and the cretins working for him. Gregor had no doubt they’d ravish her before slitting her throat.

  He scratched an eyebrow, noting Cat now lay splayed like an arrogant Egyptian Sphinx atop Chris as the lad slept. Traitorous beast.

  Sarah’s safety wasn’t the only thing compelling him to ask her to stay. She intrigued him as no other ever had, and he hoped to know her better away from the constraints of society and family. When she trotted off to her grandmother’s—as he genuinely hoped she’d be able to—he wouldn’t likely have the opportunity.

  He was no fool.

  Granddaughters to viscountesses didn’t associate with those smelling of the shop. Though his cousin Ewan might hold dual titles, one an English viscountcy himself, more commonly than not, the ton’s denizens looked down their aristocratic noses at Scots.

  Certainly, he was welcomed in the drawing rooms and gatherings of friends and family, but he seldom ventured into social circles beyond those. Neither highborn nor wealthy, he lacked two of the criteria that opened elitist ton doors.

  If Lady Rolandson opted to recognize her grandchildren by inviting Sarah and Chris into her home, chances were, his association with Sarah would end. And he didn’t want that to happen.

  Not until he figured out why she fascinated him so, and he needed time to do that. With a silent sigh and single-minded purpose, he shoved his personal interest into a corner of his mind to be taken out and studied later at his leisure.

  For now, although he’d known the lass mere hours, his foremost concern was keeping her hidden from Santano. He cleared his throat and scraped a hand through his hair. “I have a hip bath in the storage closet if ye’d like to heat water. Ye’ll find linens and all else ye need there, as well.”

  Such thankfulness swept her face, one would think he might’ve offered her a palace. She clasped her hands and rocked back on her heels. “Oh, that sounds lovely.” She plucked at her shabby shirt, scrunching her nose in an engaging manner. “But, I’m loath to put on my soiled clothes again.”

  “Aye.” He allowed himself an extended perusal of her form. His scrutiny only intensified his attraction. “Mine are too big for ye. For the lad too.” Gregor skewed his mouth sideways. He couldn’t risk purchasing clothing for a child or a woman.

  “It’s of no matter.” She combed her fingers through her long locks. “A bath will still be much appreciated.”

  “Wait.” He snapped his fingers again. “Yvette collects clothin’ for the poor. There’s a barrel in the warehouse that’s meant for Craiglocky with the next load of supplies. I’m sure I can locate somethin’ for ye in there.”

  Mayhap even a bar of perfumed soap in the supplies intended for home, too.

  He was positive Yvette wouldn’t object if he confiscated a few of her personal toiletries. She could always order more, and as generous as she was, she wouldn’t begrudge Sarah a cake of scented French soap.

  “Prepare yer bathwater, and I’ll see what I can pillage for ye to wear. Ye’ll find a big pot in the storeroom to heat the water.”

  Shoes and undergarments might be an issue, but surely there was a discarded gown that would suit. It might not be the first stare of fashion, but given Sarah wore loose-fitting rags, he didn’t think she’d complain.

  At least until the ladies, he intended to write swept in to rescue her. They’d soon have her decked head to toe in Almack patroness-approved attire.

  “Gregor?”

  He turned back from the door. “Aye, lass?”

  Indecision flickered in her eyes before she drew her shoulders back and marched across the floor. “I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done for Chris and
me. I vow, someday, somehow, I shall make it up to you.”

  Such sincerity rang in her voice, he couldn’t help but admire her gumption.

  His gaze dropped to the rosy, plump lower lip she’d been torturing for the past half an hour. Likely, she wasn’t even aware she chewed the tender flesh when nervous or upset. What he’d like to do above all else was ask for a kiss.

  Except, only the lowest cur bargained with a woman as desperate as her.

  Still…

  Slipping a handful of her hair over her shoulder, he gave her a naughty wink. “I can think of all sorts of creative ways ye might do that, my tropical flower, but I’ll settle for a wee kiss from yer sweet mouth.”

  He couldn’t resist seeing her reaction. As he suspected, she wasn’t immune to him, either.

  Her eyes rounded, filling with wonder, and her jaw slackened.

  “I was but teasin’ ye, lass.” He gently pushed her mouth closed. “What kind of a blackguard do ye take me for?”

  “Not a blackguard at all. You’re a kind, decent, brave man.” She thrust her hand out at him, and it was his turn to be taken aback. “I agree to your request.”

  No one need tell him a stupid ear-to-ear grin split his face. “Ye do?” He wrapped her small, rough hand in his and shook it.

  “I do. But I choose when and where.” She shoved his torso with her other palm. “Now find me suitable clothing, please. I cannot wait to bathe and wash my hair.”

  As Gregor thumped down the stairs, the vision of her naked and dripping wet sifted into his imagination, and he missed the next step, nearly tumbling head over arse. Good thing it was the second to the last stair, or he might’ve broken his neck. “Gude, what’s come over me?”

  Another two days passed uneventfully, and Sarah stirred the porridge as she listened for sounds that Gregor or Chris had awoken. Humming, she browned the sausages then checked the steeping tea.

  Wearing a stained apron over the simple plaid morning dress he’d procured for her, she’d cooked meals and performed other small tasks, trying in some modest way to repay Gregor’s kindnesses. And to keep her mind off the irrefutable fact that her grandmother didn’t want to see her or Chris.

  Her letter, delivered by Gregor himself to the butler—possessed with a face homelier than an old mule’s back end, according to the Highlander—had gone unanswered.

  Again.

  What would she have done if Gregor had turned out to be a scoundrel?

  Sarah dismissed the unnerving thought.

  No sense fretting about something that hadn’t come to pass, and she was quite confident at this juncture, wouldn’t. That much she’d learned about him. Gregor McTavish was a man of honor.

  Likewise, he awaited responses to the notes he’d sent, so she’d spent the past two days mending his clothing, tidying his already neat apartment, cooking, and reading from the pleasant and abundant assortment of books lining the shelves beside the window.

  It had been so long since she relaxed and enjoyed a book, she felt wicked and indulgent.

  Chris had been harder to keep amused.

  He could barely read and grew bored quickly. Cat kept him entertained part of the time, but Chris had become increasingly restless. After Gregor’s daily outing yesterday to seek word about Santano’s whereabouts, he had returned with a few toys.

  With Christmastide just over three weeks away, it wasn’t surprising he’d easily found trinkets for Chris’s amusement. Not only were shop windows full of tempting displays, but street vendors also hawked their handmade wares.

  At first, she’d fretted someone might’ve seen him, but he’d assured her he’d been discreet. A wagoner made the purchases and delivered them to Stapleton’s warehouse, concealed in a freight wagon of supplies.

  Although she hated being further indebted to Gregor, the joy on Chris’s face as he’d sat upon the floor, opening the packages had reminded her very much of the Yuletides celebrated in Jamaica, and Sarah couldn’t refuse the well-intended gifts.

  She hadn’t observed Christmastide while in London. Pauper poor and barely able to keep themselves fed, so pinch-penny was she with money that gifts had been out of the question. She blamed Santano for that, too.

  On his shopping sojourns, Gregor had obtained useful information.

  The good news was the Mary Elizabeth was scheduled to sail in just over a week. Chances were, Santano wouldn’t make port again for six months or more. The bad news was that it would make him much more desperate to find her and the key before he put out to sea.

  She’d avoided the blackguard for three years. Surely with Gregor’s help, she could manage another ten days. That gave her time to hatch a plan and leave London.

  She couldn’t argue that she found the Highlander deucedly attractive, and his appeal increased with each passing day. Larger than the men she was accustomed to, his ruggedly handsome face and hands bore evidence of time spent in the sun. He wore his hair—as light as hers, though more honey-toned than flaxen—unfashionably long and tied back in a queue.

  Few men in the Caribbean had passed Papa’s scrutiny or had been permitted to call upon her. Truth to tell, no more than she could count on one hand, and none sparked more than a passing glance and a polite smile. Since arriving in London, romantic entanglements had been the last thing on her mind.

  No, survival had been at the forefront of her thoughts for three years. For the first time since disembarking that fateful afternoon, she wasn’t in a constant state of fear.

  She owed Gregor McTavish much more than a promised kiss.

  Touching the braid hanging over her right shoulder, she fingered the black ribbon.

  He permitted her to borrow one of his, not wanting to raise questions by buying pins for her, although he might’ve asked one of his employees to do that, as well. Except he told the worker who’d bought the toys for him that they were gifts for his kin. His claim rang true since Yuletide, though no longer illegal, was still strongly discouraged by the Scottish Kirk.

  It seemed he’d thought of everything, continually weighing the situation and the repercussions.

  None of Santano’s thugs had returned to the shop, but in case they did, the door to his living quarters remained locked at all times, and as Gregor had asked, she and Chris stayed away from the windows.

  Sarah speared the drapery-covered windows a darkling look.

  She’d much prefer the natural light but would take no chances of discovery. She’d dared a peek outdoors this morning, and the sky lay heavy with a peculiar pinkish-gray cloud cover. As it had the past several mornings, a thick layer of frost and ice covered every surface.

  Once again, appreciation swelled within her breast and tears in her eyes, as well. Homeless, how would she and Chris have survived this freezing cold? They wouldn’t have.

  “I kent I smelled sausage.”

  Sarah whipped her attention to the doorway, very much aware of the virile man a few feet away.

  Hair damp, and attired only in his boots, buckskins, and white lawn shirt, Gregor dominated the entrance. Lord, he was a gorgeous specimen of manhood. Under other circumstances, she might’ve been tempted to explore a relationship with him.

  If he noticed her fascination, his mien in no way betrayed it. He inhaled a deep breath, patting his tummy. “I’m famished.”

  “You’re always starving, Gregor.”

  She ran another gaze over him and couldn’t help but appreciate his well-muscled, masculine form.

  His blue-gray eyes twinkled with mirth, and she vowed he knew exactly the wanton thoughts she entertained.

  Heat swept upward from her middle to her neck then to her cheeks. To cover her embarrassment, she waved the spoon toward the table. “Sit down. The food’s almost ready.”

  “Mrs. Smith is due this afternoon.” He took a seat, dwarfing the sturdy chair. “I’ve decided ye and Chris should hide in the warehouse. I’ve already prepared a place for ye.”

  So that’s why he was late for breakfast. “
That’s a good idea.” She nodded as she poured his tea.

  “I dinna want to do anythin’ out of my normal routine to alert anyone that ye’re here.” He said by way of an explanation as he lifted his knife and fork. “I expect responses to the letters I sent verra soon, too.”

  As he tucked into his meal, Sarah once again tried to understand the enigmatic Highlander. Nothing seemed to shake his confidence. He remained optimistic and encouraging, still adamant her grandmother would come ’round.

  A sad smile tipped her mouth, and she hid it behind the teacup raised to her lips. Too bad, his optimism wasn’t contagious.

  The office bell clanged below.

  Alert, his features tense, Gregor jerked his head up and put his finger to his lips. “Shh.”

  Swallowing her fear, Sarah nodded and hands shaking, placed the cup back in its saucer. It took her a moment to settle it soundly and stop its clattering. Something as simple as an unexpected bell ringing and panic bubbled to the surface.

  “Lock the door after me.” Gregor patted her shoulder, his huge hand burning through the gown’s thin fabric. The gesture had no doubt meant to soothe, but every time he touched her, sensual sparks lit.

  No sooner had she turned the key in the lock than a sleepy-eyed Chris shuffled from the bedroom, rumpled and disheveled.

  “Morning, sister.”

  “Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well?”

  Yawning behind his hand, he nodded and blinked groggily.

  Rather than take the bedchamber and have Chris sleep on the sofa, Sarah had chosen to sleep on the floor at the foot of his bed.

  For years, they’d shared the same uncomfortable mattresses, but she conceded, she appreciated not having his bony elbows in her ribs or being walloped during one of his bad dreams. Not only did he still have nightmares, but he also walked in his sleep. Though not likely, she couldn’t take a chance of him wandering from Gregor’s apartment.

  After she spent the first night on the floor, a feather tick, a thick coverlet, and another pillow had appeared in the chamber for her use. She hadn’t said a word, but Gregor had noticed.